Fable
by InterNutter
Summary: A little something written in the wake of FFN's new policy. If it gets pulled, you know why. Real chapter 5 up! I got it for sure, this time! :#)
1. Fable

Disclaimer: Theirs is theirs. Mine is mine. No nickin' stuff. Certain  
names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent, and I expect  
this story to be pulled in a cold second, but the message will remain.  
  
Archiving: Share, but keep my name on it. Likewise, sending something to  
me at cat@devil.com might be nice.  
  
Code-o-rama:  
*bla* - bold  
_bla_ - italics or thought  
{bla} - sound effect  
  
Fable  
InterNutter  
  
"Katzchen? Could you do me a little favour?"  
Kitty sighed and rolled her eyes. "I'm not helping you like, look up  
porn, Kurt."  
"It's not porn!" He protested. "I'm not reading it for the porn."  
"It's disgusting and I am like, *so* not helping you."  
"But - I have trouble with keyboards..." Kurt wriggled a hand at her.  
"I just need you to type the URL, ja? You don't have to -er- hang  
around." He blushed, fur darkening around his cheeks.  
"Just like, *knowing* what you're up to is like - *EEEEWWW*."  
"I'm not reading it for the sex!" Kurt blurted. "It's the story that's  
important. I need to know what happens next."  
"Eeeeewwww..." said Kitty. "Why can't you just like, *bookmark* it?"  
"And let *Logan* leap to a wrong conclusion? Are you *insane*?" His  
entire face had gone dark. "No-one else would even want to understand."  
Kitty glared at him. "It's *porn*. It's *sick* porn."  
"It's a story about a scarred person going through a tough time," Kurt  
argued. "That 'sick porn' you complain about is what they went through;  
I - I need to know if the heroine survives." He looked at the floor. "I  
want to know if it's possible."  
Kitty sighed. "All *right*... But if I like, find anything gross on my  
computer desk after you're done? I'm like, *totally* telling Logan."  
"Ah'll keep an eye on him," said Rogue, emerging from her apparent  
torpor on her bed. "Beats me why you got such a jones for _Gargoyles_  
anyway..."  
Kurt grinned. "Is it not obvious? Half the cast look like mein  
relatives."  
"Okay. Like, where is this porn, anyway?"  
"Uh. It's www.fanwriters.net slash gargoyles slash internetmadguy,"  
said Kurt.  
Kitty's fingers flew. "There. There's your porn," Kitty left the room  
with a final, "Eeewwww..."  
"It's not porn," Kurt murmured, voice so low that none could hear him  
but himself. "It's hope. I hope." He moved the mouse, looking for the  
story he was reading.  
Which wasn't there.  
He used fanwriters.net's search engine to find the story. No soap.  
He nosed around the site, thinking that there was a new filing system,  
and found the announcement.  
  
Owing to the volume of incoming complaints, fanwriters.net has elected  
to close further submissions to NC-17 stories and pull all existing NC-  
17 stories from fanwriters.net. We appologise for the inconvenience to  
some of our readers.  
  
There was a discussion group. Most of them were fanwriters who had NC-  
17 stories up. Internetmadguy was there, complaining that he had no  
other means of hosting his stories. No website. No email for Kurt. And  
the discussion group forbade attachments.  
Slowly and painstakingly, Kurt wrote Internetmadguy a message.  
_Your story gave me hope; I know the same pain you wrote. I wish there  
was another way for you to publish... but for me, there is no more  
hope. Thx NEway._  
It took him twenty minutes, because his thick fingers mashed many more  
keys than he wished to use.  
He hit send, closed the window, and slunk quietly away to his room.  
  
Kitty peeked through the wall. "Whew. He's like, *gone*. Like, talk  
about relief."  
"Leave him alone," said Rogue. "Ah think somethin's eatin' him."  
Kitty wasn't listening. She was checking her email. "Whoah! Like,  
twenty new emails." {click, click} "Huh? They're like, totally for  
Kurt."  
Rogue stirred, peeking over her roommate's shoulder to read a subject.  
"Don't do it, Kurt?" she read.  
Kitty clicked it. "Ew. They're like, talking about *suicide*."  
Rogue went paler than usual. "We've gotta find him."  
  
It was raining, which suited his mood, right now. God was crying with  
him.  
It was a long way down to the ground.  
There was no hope.  
Not for him.  
_Father,_ he thought at the weeping sky, _I can't help coming to you  
with a stained soul. Forgive me. Please don't turn me aside. I need your  
acceptance. But if you won't accept? At least a little miracle. Catch me  
on the way down?_  
Kurt stepped up to the edge.  
And jumped. 


	2. Moral

Moral  
  
Kids all over the world are facing adult-sized problems. Some of them  
are even bigger. Sometimes, NC-17 fics are rated that way, not because  
of sexual content, but because of the sheer weight of the problems  
facing the characters.  
Some fiction, regardless of the adult content, saves lives. Some  
problems are too big to face alone; and too large to talk about with  
others. Some kids find solace and rescue in the stories that talk about  
their favourite characters overcoming the same problems.  
It gives them hope.  
If you object to your child reading NC-17 fics, then you chould be  
aware that FFN had an *honour* system to block the fics in question.  
They trusted children under 17 to back off when the warning window  
popped up, telling them that they'd clicked on an NC-17 fic.  
Furthermore, the internet, just like any other technology, is not a  
babysitter. You would not trust a small child in the company of a  
toaster, so why use a television or a computer to keep them company? Why  
trust a technology that gives *everyone* on the *planet* a chance to say  
whatever they like to keep a *child* company?  
Parents, share your kids' internet time. It's the only way you can be  
certain that they're not reading 'dangerous' material. Instead of  
complaining about what your child reads, ask why and how they got to  
read it.  
The writers can't control who reads their stories.  
FFN does not have the backbone to come to the logical conclusion, so I  
will.  
Anyone who complains about an otherwise well-written and whole piece  
of NC-17 fiction is complaining because they *let* their child read it.  
Because they couldn't be bothered spending their time interacting with  
their child in a responsible way.  
That, and they've forgotten what it was like to be aged fifteen to  
seventeen; finding out about sex by sneaking peeks at whomever's soft  
porn collection. You've all done it. Why act so shocked when your own  
kid does the same thing?  
Ask yourself, before you decide to tell me.  
I mean no offense, but I say what I must about this. That is what  
freedom of speech is about. 


	3. Aftermath

Aftermath  
  
{Beep}  
Clear liquid dripped into the little tube that lead to a long line of  
IV tubing.  
{Beep}  
A blue-furred chest steadily rose and fell.  
{Beep}  
A green line traces a heartbeat on a screen.  
{Beep}  
Ororo slumbers in a nearby chair, a book dangling from her lax  
fingers.  
{Beep}  
Otherwise, all is still.  
In this room.  
In another, Logan paces and frets. He'd never admit aloud that he  
liked any of the kids; but he worries, nonetheless. It was a minor  
miracle that made him look up just as Kurt leaped off the roof. It was  
desperation that made him jump up and try to catch him.  
His adamantium-laced bones, on the other hand, were responsible for a  
number of soft-tissue and blunt trauma injuries. A large number.  
Logan blamed himself. Even though he *knew* that if he hadn't tried,  
Kurt would be dead.  
At Cerebro, Professor Xavier was going over the mansion records,  
trying to find some clue that would lead to an answer to the famous and  
oft-asked one-word question. Why?  
So far, there wasn't very much of an answer.  
"Sir?"  
Xavier turns to see Scott, even though it isn't strictly necessary. A  
telepath always knows who is coming to see him, and what about, since  
both subjects are readily available on surface thoughts.  
"Yes, Scott?"  
"I - I found something. It looks like a journal of sorts, sir. Some of  
it -um- it's written in a language I can't understand..." He blushed a  
little. He'd tried to read it.  
"Thank you, Scott," said Xavier, accepting the tome. It was old,  
careworn and repaired in places with tape. It's cover only held two  
words.  
_Kurt Wagner._  
It *was* a journal, and Charles had no real desire to pry into Kurt's  
childhood, so he turned to the most recent entries.  
_Found hope,_ one entry read. _Internet story by v. good writer. It's  
a lot adult, though. The other adults wouldn't understand, so it's best  
kept a secret. It's like he knows my pain. It's as if he knows *me*.  
Everything that's in the bound pages is here in the story..._  
Xavier checked, a block of pages *were* tied together. Careful not to  
do any damage, he untied the cord and opened the sealed section.  
There, written in charcoal and blood, was the most disturbing thing  
he'd ever seen.  
_Bad men came,_ Kurt wrote, his writing hurried and barely legible. _I  
was barely able to keep hold of this book. I saw Mama, Papa and the  
girls tossed around like toys. Half the *troupe* outside, as well. Bad  
men call me an animal. I'm not. I *know* I'm not._  
Another entry. _Have to write in dark, else they see. They don't like  
N animal that writes. They don't like N animal that talks._  
This one was written in blood. _Bad man took me from cage, did things  
to me. Hurts inside. Scared 2 move. Want 2 die. God won't take me._  
Another. _Didn't feed me 2day. Don't know why. Did take from cage,  
into bed. Still hurts. Esp. being put back in cage._  
Xavier read on, the more he read, the worse things got. It was a  
history of abuse and pain in sparse words. Unable to take much more, he  
turned to the last entry in the bound section, where someone else's neat  
hand had written;  
_Impossible brother rescued, thank God. Stranger, if you read this,  
you'd best have Kurti's best interests at heart. All others who pry are  
cursed. This entire month was just a bad dream, and so it will stay. I,  
Stefan Szardos, sorcerer trainee, hereby protect this portion of his  
past against all who would do him harm with it. Be warned. Use this  
knowledge against him, and the pain you do will come back to you a  
thousand fold, for the rest of your natural life._  
Another hand had written, _And I, Andrei Guismann, will personally  
hunt you down and add to your misery._  
Xavier re-tied the knots, and went back to the recent entries in  
Kurt's journal.  
_Everything that's in the bound pages is here in the story, except  
perhaps the FOH. The Fiends can't exist in the story, but I can see  
their ghost in the intolerant people Internetmadguy writes about._  
_Poor Angeline. She doesn't have impossible brothers to rescue her.  
She just has the few friends she made._  
A newer entry read: _Story stopped in the middle of the capture, with  
friends out for the count. Sounds alot like FOH vs. us... There's lots  
too similar in all of this. Things that happen in story happened/will  
happen to me. I don't want it to happen, but FOH are rumbling about  
mutie freaks. I think they've seen one of us. I think they want to hurt  
one of us._  
_I don't want my friends hurt/killed. Need to know if all is well.  
Need to know if Fiends can B beaten. Need to know if survival possible,  
or if I should just end it now._  
_All I do is get my friends+family hurt, just by being alive. If I'm  
dead, no-one will have 2 protect me NEmore. Death best solution 2  
problems. Will jump, and pray 4 forgiveness on way down._  
_Don't want 2 go 2 hell, even if I *do* look like a demon._  
The last entry read, _Story pulled. Now I'll never know. Have to die.  
I'm sorry, but it's for the best._  
Xavier's tears made the ink run.  
  
"Kurt, please listen."  
What else could he do? His body wouldn't work.  
"You don't *have* to die. Whether you exist or not, people would still  
find out about us. They'd still be intolerant of us; just because we're  
different. What happens in a story is --" Herr Professor's voice  
faltered. "It was a co-incidence, nothing more. Just a co-incidence. You  
don't have to blame yourself for human intolerance, Kurt."  
He could. He knew he could. He'd done it before. Lots of times. Oodles  
and boodles. His family and half his tribe had been hurt, because he  
existed. Because of freaky ugly Kurt.  
"*Kurt*..." Somewhere in the distant outside, Herr Professor held his  
hand. "Please. You can't help being different from the others, any more  
than you can help - being German. You are *not* a freak, and you aren't  
ugly. These bad things don't happen because of your differences. They  
happen because people fail to try to understand. Because they don't  
*want* to understand."  
No-one will want to understand. He knew.  
"Some people will," Herr Xavier said. "Somewhere, there's someone who  
will understand, and be able to explain it to others who will *want* to  
make the effort. For every fiend, there's a friend."  
Ha. He didn't get friends. Not allowed. They'd find out. Couldn't  
touch them, couldn't play with them. Couldn't be normal, even when he  
looked that way.  
"Define normal," Xavier whispered.  
He tried. He really did; but it kept slipping from his grasp.  
  
"...we live in hope of deliverance. Hope of deliverance. Hope of  
deliverance/ From the darkness that surrounds us..."  
Kitty mumbled, "Damnit Kurt," before she remembered where Kurt was and  
burst out crying.  
His stereo, still set to wake him up with his favourite song,  
continued playing.  
"Damnit!" Kitty shrieked. "Why'd he have to do it over a stupid  
*story*?"  
"It wasn't just a story to him," said Rogue. "It was an echo and a  
foretellin', all at the same time."  
"What?"  
Rogue sat up. "Ah touched him, remember? Part of him is still up  
here," she tapped her head. "He keeps to himself fo' the most part, but  
lately, he's been all nervy an' scared."  
"Over a story?"  
"Over a story, the FOH, the fact that he can't have normal friends,  
the fact that he *wants* to be sociable. The fact that he's gotta hide,  
but it makes him sick inside, 'cause it's like livin' in a cage..."  
Rogue sighed. "It all mounts up. It's been mountin' up ever since he  
came here. That story bein' pulled was just th' final straw."  
Paul McCartney sang, "I will understand..." in the next room. Over and  
over until he faded away.  
"That song and that story's been keepin' him alive," said Rogue. "When  
the story went, the song wasn't enough."  
"Was he that sad?" said Kitty.  
"Not sad," said Rogue. "Scared. He's terrified that somethin'll happen  
to us because of *him*. He *had* hope, but I guess it's gone."  
"Not on the internet, it isn't," said Kitty, leaping for her computer.  
"There's always someone who like, has something." 


	4. Hope

Hope  
  
"Okay, so when he wakes up, we'll have this party for him and invite  
everyone and --"  
"Bad idea, said Jean. "Nice try, Evan, but we can't really trust any  
outsiders."  
"Someone might touch him," said Scott. "It'll blow our cover."  
"Maybe we could make it a costume party," said Jean.  
"Don't be insultin'," said Rogue. "An' if it's just us, won't that  
defeat the point?"  
Evan sighed, looking down. "I thought K-man was doing okay," he said.  
"This whole thing's a big shock."  
"Yeah," said Scott.  
Kitty phased through them, carrying an enormous wodge of paper. "Like,  
excuse me," she said. "I gotta like, get this stuff to the Professor."  
"Is that it?" said Rogue. "Whoah."  
"No, this is like, *half* of it," said Kitty. "Who knew this guy had  
like, verbal diarrhoea?"  
"Ew," said Evan.  
"I *mean*," said Kitty as she vanished down the hall, "that he  
*writes* a lot!"  
"Still," said Scott. "*Ew*."  
  
"Good *grief*," said the Professor.  
Logan whistled backwards.  
"I'm still like, printing the rest," said Kitty.  
"There's *more*?" boggled Logan.  
"Like, an entire sheaf's worth," Kitty complained. "There's like,  
three *tonnes* of like, chapters. And it's still like, unfinished? It's  
gotta like, go on for like, *ever*!"  
"This is the story Kurt's been reading?"  
"*Just* that story," said Kitty. "If you like, want a _Gargoyles_  
primer, I can like, print out an FAQ..."  
"No, I - sort of follow the show." He began reading. "They pulled  
this?"  
"Yeah, 'cause it's like, totally porn."  
"Hardly," said Xavier. He turned a page, then another, speed-reading  
the text. "This story hovers on the borderline of art... I can see why  
Kurt wanted to keep this from us. Given what I've found, he needed  
something he could relate to. Someone who'd been there."  
"On _Gargoyles_?" said Logan. "I mean, I can see the similarity,  
*sometimes*, but them and the Elf?"  
"He said it," murmured Kitty. "He said they looked like his  
relatives." She looked to Logan. "I like, shrugged it off."  
"We shrug a lot of things off, Half-pint," said Logan. "Maybe we  
aughta stop."  
"I thought this was pulled from the internet," said Xavier. "How did  
you get your hands on it?"  
"Someone's like, hosting it for Internetmadguy," she explained. "I  
just found it and like, started printing."  
"Thank heavens for freedom of information," said Xavier. "Kurt can  
have his hope back. And a plethora of people he can talk to."  
"He don't think we can relate, Chuck."  
"*I* can *always* relate," said the Professor. "If he'll let me." 


	5. Recovery

Recovery  
  
Kurt opened his eyes, then quietly wept. At least the Lord had  
answered one half of his prayer. The Almighty had arranged for Kurt to  
be caught.  
Did that mean he wasn't forgiven?  
The pamphlets he'd obtained in secret were right. Attempted suicide  
never solved anything. It just made more problems, more pain. And even  
if he *had* been successful, he'd have still ripped a gigantic gaping  
wound in everyone's heart.  
It all hurt too much.  
"Hello, Kurt."  
Not the Professor. Not now. The last thing he wanted was the  
Professor's gentle understanding. The quiet, careful questions.  
Kurt didn't know, exactly, what he wanted, but he knew that a quiet  
counsellor was not it.  
"And neither's running down the street, naked, screaming, 'I'm  
different! Deal with it,'" said the Professor.  
"Oh, I'd dearly want to," said Kurt. "But not *naked*. Boxer shorts,  
maybe. Naked, nein."  
Professor Xavier sighed. "I'm glad you're back with us, Kurt.  
Everyone's been - upset about your fall."  
"Jump," said Kurt. "Call a spade a spade, please. I think - maybe - we  
all have to deal with this."  
"You've been doing some thinking."  
"What else could I do? Moving was temporarily out." Kurt winced at a  
thought. "Ach. You've read my journal."  
"And the story you've been following."  
"How? It's been pulled off the 'net."  
"Someone else is hosting it now," said Xavier. "Kitty's printing it  
for you."  
He noticed the thick pile of paper on Xavier's lap. "Gruss Gott... I  
didn't realise it was so much."  
"All yours," said Xavier, placing it on the table beside the bed. "And  
also, you have the right to talk to us about *anything* that's bothering  
you. Anything at all. Any time."  
"I want to stop people hurting my friends because of *me*," he said.  
"I'm sure the Fiends might have seen me. I *know* what they're going to  
do. People like that have done it before. They'll do it again. Bad news  
loves good patterns. And I'm the cause..." The floodgates had opened.  
"Gott, Professor... If I could pass, we wouldn't *have* this trouble. We  
could look like a normal group of kids. I could - I could... I could be  
accepted."  
"*Kurt*..." Professor Xavier soothed. "We'll find a way. It might be a  
fight, but we'll *all* fight it. Not just for you, but for others whose  
mutations can't 'pass', as you put it. You just happen to be the first  
we've found. I know, it's hard to be a trailblazer... but if you can do  
it, you'll make things a lot easier for other physically different  
mutants."  
"Ja. I can always give grooming tips," he said, laughing a little.  
"As well as proving that you *can* have a normal life, hm?"  
"How can I?" Kurt asked. "I can't touch anyone."  
"Neither can Rogue."  
"Ja. Look how many friends she has."  
Xavier sighed. "Rogue has *elected* to distance herself from her  
peers," he said. "You're an intelligent young man, Kurt. I'm sure you  
can figure out ways around our current - er - covert status."  
"You're not going to put me under house watch?"  
"I don't think you're going to jump again." Xavier raised an eyebrow.  
"Do you?"  
"Nein. I think - it's more trouble than it's worth."  
"We need to have a long talk. Later. Right now, I think you need your  
friends, more."  
  
Kitty bought another wodge of printout. It seemed like all she could  
do. "There's still, like, half a reem of paper to go," she said. "Maybe  
you can like, read it over or something."  
"Gives me something to do while I'm stuck here," said Kurt. He sounded  
tired. Maybe it was his pain meds.  
"Are you, like, okay?"  
"I've got a lot off my chest," he confessed. "It's still a bit heavy,  
though. Being like this."  
Kitty was instantly confused. "Um. What? Does it hurt?"  
"Eh?"  
"Your injuries... I mean. You're all wounded and stuff, right?"  
"Katchen... I was *talking* about being a freak."  
Kitty was jolted almost clean out of her chair. Kurt *never* said  
'freak', especially not about himself. All signs of cogniscient thought  
flew out of her head and she blurted, "Oh. Would you believe I like,  
totally forgot?"  
"You forgot," he said. "I scared the hell out of you and you forgot."  
He leaned his head back and laughed. "Ah, Katzchen... would that the  
world would forget like you. It'd be all I need." He leaned over and  
hugged her.  
"That still doesn't mean you can get like, *friendly*," she objected,  
but not too strenuously. "I'd like, like to have my *lungs* back,  
sometime soon."  
Kurt returned to his supine position. "Sorry, Katchen. At least now I  
know you don't like *me*... not the fur or the tail."  
Kitty sighed. "I don't like, *hate* you or anything. It's just -  
you're like a brother I never had."  
Kurt sighed. "I have enough sisters all ready." He pouted. "Hmp."  
Kitty giggled at his fake pout. "There's like, a queue forming  
outside, Fuzzy," she said. "Everyone wants to like, cheer you up."  
"Everyone," said Kurt. "There isn't that many of 'everyone', you know.  
Just you, Scott, Jean, Rogue, Evan, Logan, Frau Munroe and Herr  
Professor. "Hardly enough for two hands. Normally."  
"Sorry," said Kitty. "There's gonna be more mutants here, soon," she  
offered. "The Professor says they're like, gonna be coming here for the  
new school year. It'll be more people at least?"  
"More people to scare," muttered Kurt.  
"They'll get over it," Kitty assured. "I did."  
  
"Hey," said Scott. He parked himself on the sole visitor's chair and  
fidgetted with his hands.  
"Hey yourself," said Kurt.  
"Um. We thought of throwing a party for you..." Scott blurted. Then he  
winced. "It - kinda got shut down."  
"Lemme guess," said Kurt. "Costumes?"  
"...nnnngggg..."  
"Hey relax," he said. "You don't have to throw a party for me."  
"We don't?"  
"Nein. Watching you kick yourself is *far* more entertaining." Kurt  
grinned.  
"Goddamn wise-ass Elf," said Scott. He ruffled Kurt's hair. "Remember  
you can't fly, huh?" He grinned.  
"Oh, I think I've learned," Kurt smiled back. "I won't be doing it  
again."  
  
Jean sat, lip trembling, trying to be Brave.  
"It's not your fault," Kurt soothed. "It was all me."  
"But - I should have--"  
"Nein," he rested a gentle hand against hers. "You have a right to  
your life, too."  
Jean broke down at that point.  
_I thought she was supposed to comfort *me*..._  
  
Rogue marched in, angry. "Nobody else is gonna say it, so Ah will,"  
she said, "You're a frikkin' dumbass, Kurt."  
"I love you, too," he smiled. "I know it was stupid; but I didn't  
think I had any smart options left."  
"That's why you're such a frikkin' dumbass," she said, sitting down.  
"You're livin' in the same house as the world's most powerful telepath,  
and the world's most understandin' counsellor all rolled into one. How  
could you *not* do somethin' smart an' *talk* to the guy?"  
"He's busy," said Kurt. "There's always more important things than me  
to handle. And I *had* hope..." He briefly touched the pile of  
manuscript. "When it was taken away, I - I was beyond thinking."  
"You *are* gonna think from now on, ain't ya?"  
"Oh, ja. Thinking is less hard on the body."  
"Good," said Rogue, moving into joking mode. "'Cause Ah don't want ya  
hornin' in on *mah* limelight. *I'm* the one who's supposed t' be in  
love with death, not *you*."  
Kurt laughed. "I love you, too."  
"Don't you forget it."  
  
Logan was a complete surprise. "Elf."  
"Herr Logan."  
He sighed. "I ain't mad at ya."  
Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. "Sehr gut. I was worried."  
"That was my line, Elf," Logan's face was impassive, inscrutable.  
"Don't do it again, eh? This team needs ya."  
"*Me*? How could they need me?"  
"Trust me," said Logan. "Without you in the mix, this whole Institute  
would fall apart."  
"I - don't understand," he confessed. "How does this work when  
everyone complains about me?"  
"You're a peace-maker, Elf. I've seen you defuse arguments before they  
begin. Heck, I've even heard ya explainin' folks to other folks,  
smoothin' out the rough edges. That - and I *know* you come up with some  
darned good ideas, sometime."  
"Truly?"  
"Would I lie?"  
"Nein, but you would tell half the truth."  
Logan smirked. "Awright... Ya also come up with some damn fool  
hairbrained schemes, too. Happy?"  
"And you're still not mad?"  
"Nah. You'll grow out of it."  
  
Evan lagged in the rear. "You OK, K-Man?"  
"Still a bit sore," Kurt told him. "It's cool, Evan. I have my hope  
back. I'll be all right."  
"You sure?"  
"Ja."  
"I really wanted to throw a party, you know. But - mister military was  
all, 'somebody might touch him' and all that." He sighed. "You'd think  
he'd learn to relax after Duncan Matthews' party."  
"Are you kidding? You *know* what happened at Matthews' party. You  
remember? The whole Middleverse thing?"  
"Oh. Yeah. Well, apart from *that*, nothin' happened. It was cool. I  
mean, most of the *school* was there and you made it a non-contact  
sport."  
"Ah, such phraseology," Kurt laughed. "Maybe we could try for a  
smaller party, ja?"  
"Yeah. Friends and family." Evan counted on his fingers. "That makes  
aboooouuut... fifty - including the obligatory gatecrashers."  
"There's that many gatecrashers?"  
"Hey, relax," said Evan, which was a portent of doom. "They're fun  
people. One even brings his own Deej kit."  
"I think," said Kurt, "that I might be hiding under the bed." 


End file.
